


no i didn't care

by zjofierose



Series: (every now and then) on my mind - Angstober 2019 [7]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Disappointment, Exhaustion, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27464026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: "give me another chance"
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: (every now and then) on my mind - Angstober 2019 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998550
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	no i didn't care

**Author's Note:**

> just a baby ficlet for a prompt from a 2019 Angstober list. originally posted as part of a multi-chapter ficlets collection; re-posting as a stand-alone.

Yuuri hits the ice, hard. It knocks the wind out of him, and he lies there for a long moment, breathing slowly and trying to let his ribcage settle back into his chest. 

Viktor says nothing, which means that he saw, and which also means that he knows or at least assumes that Yuuri’s uninjured. Which is, for varying definitions of uninjured, true. 

Yuuri takes a deep breath and sits up. At least his years of falling have trained him to always touch down hands first - he’d managed to slow his impact enough that he hadn’t hit his head, just his back. Well, his back and his hip and his tailbone, all of which immediately ache as he picks himself up onto his blades and begins a slow loop. 

Everything hurts, but everything always hurts - it doesn’t matter. 

He concentrates on breathing slowly, in and out, in and out, the rhythm of his lungs attuning to the rhythm of his blades on the ice. He’s tired, but it doesn’t matter. He aches, but it doesn’t matter. Viktor says he has stamina, but Yuuri’s not sure it’s true - he suspects it’s more that he’s just learned to stubbornly ignore the pain and exhaustion that other skaters take as warnings from their bodies, that he’s learned to hit the wall and keep going, dragging himself through his paces over and over until his brain might finally be able to rest. 

The music starts in his mind, and he leans into the first spin, marking it instead of going full-out. He pulls out of it and begins the crossing back entrance to the jump, thighs burning, lungs desperately heaving to pull in enough air. 

His speed isn’t enough, he can feel it even as he digs his toe pick viciously into the ice. He grits his teeth and completes the rotations, but there’s no saving the landing and he falls, again, tumbling across his hands and knees onto the ice. 

Yuuri picks himself up. There’s ice shavings on his pants, so he dusts them off, wincing as his hand bumps against a new bruise on his knee. He stands, turning to see what Viktor has to say. They’ve been at it for hours, but Viktor’s been quiet this morning, and Yuuri’s not quite sure what to make of it.

Viktor’s blue gaze on him is calm, unwavering, and Yuuri can’t read the look on his face. For all that Yuuri has been majoring in Viktor Nikiforov Studies for the last sixteen or so years of his life, Viktor is still an enigma wrapped in a mystery on the best of days. He likes Viktor just as much, maybe more, than he always thought he would, but he cannot begin to fathom why or how Viktor does half the things he does, or says the things he says, or even why he’s even come to Japan in the first place. 

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Mari-neechan had told him gravely. “If he wants to be here in Hasetsu training you instead of competing in Russia, who are you to question it?” Yuuri had nodded in agreement, watching as she dragged her cigarette down to ash. “And,” she’d added as an afterthought, “don’t give  _ him _ any reason to question it either.”

“I think it’s time we called it a day,” Viktor says now from the boards, and Yuuri opens his mouth to protest. “And I don’t want you trying the quad Salchow any more for the moment. You haven’t landed it consistently in weeks.”

“But, I…” Yuuri starts, and Viktor’s face shutters, that bland public smile settling into place on his delicate features. 

“Now, Yuuri,” he says, and Yuuri wants to wipe that look off his face by any means possible, “you wouldn’t question your coach, would you? Surely such a well-mannered student as yourself would never dream of second-guessing their coach’s decisions?”

“Give me another chance,” Yuuri pleads, skating to the boards in defiance of every ache and pain. “I’ll land it this time. I  _ know _ I will.”

“You won’t,” Viktor says, and the matter-of-factness of his surety is more gutting than any passionate remonstration. “You’re too tired and too caught up in your own head. You’ll just hurt yourself more than you already have today. Come on.”

He holds out Yuuri’s skate guards, setting them on the edge of the boards when Yuuri makes no attempt to take them from him. “Let’s go,” he says, and turns, coat swirling fashionably behind him. 

“Please,” Yuuri begs his retreating back, willing the shake out of his legs, the tears out of his eyes. “ _ Please _ , Viktor - give me one more chance.”

There is no answer but the closing of the door.


End file.
